Between the tracks.

Between the tracks.

I could barely open my eyes. But from what I could see the bus was filled entirely with women, most of whose faces were partially covered, there were women of different ages and origin.

I was conscious now, however I could feel the medicine working inside me, subduing my spirit and making it impossible for me to move.

‘Are we there yet?’ I asked, with a slight gasp that originated from my long persistent breathing problems.
It was raining outside, but the driver didn’t seem to care, we were moving faster than I would have had liked.
‘Not yet,’ replied the lady sitting next to me. She looked Middle aged, perhaps in her early 40s. Beneath the cloth that covered her face, I could see that she was exceptionally beautiful. I remembered that I had promised to meet my brother today, I didn’t know if I could still keep my promise.

‘Oh, I am Naomi by the way,’ smiling cautiously.

My name is Fahtima, she replied, offering me a cigarette in the process.
The last time I had met my doctor, he had advised me to stop smoking since I suffered from severe bronchitis, but you can’t really resist your own habits.
As she tried lighting my cigarette, I could tell that the lighter wouldn’t work. From the back of my eye, I could tell that somebody was watching us. She would often turn her head back around, perhaps to avoid any suspicion.

This felt like a dream, an illusion that was never meant to be. And yet I couldn’t deny what reality offered.

I took the lighter in my hand and lit my cigarette. Fahtima was amazed, as if I had pulled out a magic trick right before her eyes.

As I continued to talk to her, she told me about now most of the other ladies on the bus were much older than either of us, though she reminded me of her friendship with all of them and how they will be glad to help me if I needed something………….

……the bus had come to a sudden halt, jerking both us from our seats.
‘Have we reached?’ I said, this time with more enthusiasm.
But it was not Fahtima who replied, but the lady who had been observing us the past hour: she had risen from her seat in great distent, and yet her face expressed power, her existence demanding attention with each step she took towards us. Meanwhile the bus had started on its journey again.

these were the last words I remember hearing from her, before she disappeared in an oblivion that I hence feared.
I remember that it was still raining when we finally reached. Partially drenched, I feared that I might catch a cold. God, I hated these uneventful showers.
Not everything that happens in this world needs to be good, some things deserve to be downright terrible, just the way they were meant to be.

There was a hushed up crowd that awaited our return, and though not many words were spoken, sometimes glimpses are enough.

Our intimate bodies were visible against the rainwater that clutched us.Since it was too late for dinner all of us were asked to move back to our rooms, and while hunger destroyed the very most of us, none of us questioned authority, there was no reason to, a spontanity that we were already used to. About an hour later we were informed that we have to catch a train early morning tomorrow. We weren’t told where would this train go to, nor did we know where we currently were. Life just was, we existed and nothing else mattered.

The sense of incarceration didn’t matter anymore, my family had died in the bombing of our city past month, after which I was left out with a group of nuns by my aunt whom I never saw again, leading me to guess that she died too. War had torn us apart, and under our thick veils our bodies were constrained, strangely enough so was our soul.

As I read through this scribble I realise that I didn’t mention much about myself or even about my family; all I have done is to lead it to a case of estrangement. Alas, it doesn’t matter anymore, the story has ended already and it’s not going anywhere from here.

To be honest as the person I am I would have had never thought that life would turn out this way and yet I have no remorse, I have nothing to go back to and no one to consolidate me.I am no one.

In a world that has no start or an end we stood by the railway station waiting for our train to come, waiting for a new journey to begin. A journey of many miles with a destination of no address. Hoping that just maybe somewhere between all of this we will all find ourselves again.